Peter Macchiarini Steps

My coming of age memories involve a desert, beautiful wide open spaces of Arizona, guns and older men who could buy me beer.
My husbands coming of age memories involve the beautiful scenery of San Francisco. In a way I am horribly jealous that he was able to live so close to such a glorious city.
Last year, about this time, he took me to these steps to share in his memories of teenagedom. He regaled me with stories of coming to these steps to drink, smoke (all kinds of different things) and hang with his friends. I almost wished I could have been there to share in those coming of age memories.
I am old enough to buy my own beer now and don’t need to go to some lonely steps in the center of town to feel special. These steps are how ever really neat and afford some great views of the city scape’s. I am so happy that my husband decided to share his memories with me.
Now we can make our own together. (No we have not banged on the steps!)

Three solid stars for one of the steepest hills in the city, and the view of downtown from the top. I live on this hill (moving in was a bitch and a half) and these steps are the icing on the cake of my workouts. FEEL THE BURN. I enjoy watching oogly-​eyed tourists stare up this monstrous incline and huff and puff their way up. Living on this hill boosts my little studio above many other buildings and thus provides a breathtaking view of the skyline, Russian Hill, and the Bay Bridge.
Now, on to the steps themselves. All sorts of characters are constantly perched on Peter Macchiarini Steps, which is awesome: reading, smoking, laughing, singing, underage drinking, pregaming and… sleeping. Fine, sleep on the steps in the middle of the day, I don’t really care. Just please do not (and residents/​visitors of the Green Tortoise Hostel… this is not directed at you in anyway…) a) grab my ankles b) call me names or c) spit on me as I walk around you.
In addition, the steps are a mess. Broadway pre-​gamers and underage drinkers: please do not break your pints of Black Label, Hennessey and Taaka all over the steps; it’s a general hazard to the community. And the glass gets stuck in my high heels as I clippity clop down the stairs to work in the morning. Same goes for the 10 million cigarette butts.